


Experimential

by Tater_Tati



Series: #Kinktober2020 [4]
Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: CRACKSMUT, Dirty Talk, F/M, I say these tags but tbh they are all attempted and fall sorely flat bc Illumi, Illumi is probably a tad OOC, Masturbation, Phone Sex, Sexting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-17
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:33:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27065683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tater_Tati/pseuds/Tater_Tati
Summary: Kinktober Day 4: SextingWhile you consider yourself a fairly well adjusted and versatile person, you have needs. Needs that transcend the boring, missionary-style, often impersonal sex the two of you have. Which is why one day, you mention to him: “Illu… let’s spice up our sex life.”He turns to you with a pensive frown.“Why do seasonings belong in sex?”
Relationships: Illumi Zoldyck/Reader
Series: #Kinktober2020 [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1975348
Comments: 1
Kudos: 91





	Experimential

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve done it. I’ve created the crackiest Illumi smut. Probably OOC. The only way Illumi would agree to this. Also the only way Illumi would have a boo who isn’t arranged/who his fam doesn’t kill. Hopefully not too unbelievable ahslfjh

You consider yourself to be a rather open-minded person. Your romantic interests range from the guy next door to world-class athletes. Of course, that’s how you somehow end up smack-dab in the middle of that range with Illumi Zoldyck, a member of one of the world’s most feared assassin families. How your paths crossed and you got together was a thing of chance and luck. While his wooing of you consisted of him admitting, with a blank stare, “I suppose you wouldn’t be the _worst_ person to marry,” you typically enjoyed a different approach, a more romantic one. (“Later on, dear, maybe two years down the line,” you responded, entwining your hands together. He seemed unamused.)

However, Illumi and romance are like two planets constantly orbiting each other, never crossing paths. He thinks of anniversaries as nothing more than days on a page, and it’s only after much prodding and hinting from you that you find a bouquet of flowers on your bedside table, the card accompanying it bearing a sparse, generic message in what looked suspiciously like ~~Gotoh’s handwriting~~ Illumi’s cursive.

Anything else about romance, he hardly bothers to learn. Or rather, he has no interest in. After meeting his family in what was possibly the most awkward dinner ever (his younger, portly brother made disparaging remarks about your figure, his father said nothing, but his steel gaze seemed to judge every aspect of your appearance, and his mother gave you an endless stream of backhanded compliments), you can see why Illumi is so… detached. He had to be, to be able to deal with these unhinged family members.

And you try to be understanding. But you soon learn with Illumi that if you aren’t vocal, he tends to forget about you. And while you consider yourself a fairly-well adjusted and versatile person, you have _needs._ Needs that transcend the boring, missionary-style, impersonal sex the two of you often have. Which is why one day, you mention to him: “Illu… let’s spice up our sex life.”

He turns to you with a pensive frown.

“Why do seasonings belong in sex?”

“Ah…”

It appears you have your work cut out for you. 

—

Your first attempt to diversify your sex life involves sexting. Something simple and easy, right? Even the most obtuse of men could understand how to respond to a risque message. Plus, Illumi always responded when you asked him to grab cookies on the way home, telling you to get it yourself, or that Gotoh, ~~his bitch,~~ was already on it.

_“Hey there, handsome. Whatcha wearing?_ ” you send him.

He responds soon enough. “ _(Y/N), you saw me two weeks ago. I am wearing the exact same outfit.”_

Undeterred, you try again. _“Whatcha wearing under that?”_

_“Undergarments.”_

Maybe this approach isn’t working for you.

The next day, you try again.

_“Thinking of you…. ;)”_

That garners no response for several hours, and when he finally does respond, it’s a mere, _“OK.”_ With all caps.

You decide to step up your efforts. The next time you text him somewhat scandalous photo of you, in only an oversized shirt of his and panties. You angle the picture so that the focus is on the way your curves press against the material, and the way his shirt rides up on your stomach to show a peek of flesh with that black lace. It takes you probably close to an hour to pose in a way that looks suggestive enough, but not overtly seductive. You don’t want to scare off his inexperienced sensibilities, and risk spurning him. Then you click send.

The text you receive back is wordy, compared to his usual ones. “ _It is not wise to save such pictures of yourself on your phone, when you can easily be hacked.”_ You can practically _smell_ the disapproval through the phone screen.

Frustrated and more than a little worked up from the imagined, _ideal_ responses to your text you were envisioning, involving him responding with some equal kind of ardor—or as much as Illumi could muster up—you call him; to your surprise, he picks up.

“(Y/N),” he greets, not even sounding the slightest bit _aroused,_ or bothered by your photos. Your eye twitches unconsciously.

There’s a cacophony of sounds in the background. “Illumi, what are you—” Screams, bodies slamming into each other. The ring of something metallic slicing through the air, accompanied by choked groans.

“I’m in the middle of a kill,” he says casually. “Normally, I wouldn’t entertain such calls, but I do think it is important to impress on you the odds of your phone getting hacked.”

Illumi spends a good fifteen minutes lecturing on you how easy it would be for Milluki to hack your phone and spread your risqué photos online, and only ends the conversation once you promise him you’ll delete all them.

But of course, once you end the call, you’re backing up those pictures, because it’s not often you look this _fine_. Illumi doesn’t know what he’s missing out on.

—

Later that night, to your surprise, he’s the one to call you. But the timing of his call is less than ideal. Still clothes in your getup from earlier, your fingers are just about to delve into your panties when your phone lights up with his name. You glower at it, debating whether or not you’ll even give him the time of day, much less your _personal_ time. Out of even greater frustration with him, however, and the slightest hope that something good may come out of this, you answer.

“Yes?”

“Are you occupied?”

_Occupied_. How you wish you were, but since he isn’t here, and he threw away your dildo stash once he found it…

“Oh no,” you say, more than a touch irritated at the memory, and of his imperviousness to your attempts. “I was just in the middle of deleting all my risqué photos, because god knows they end up on the internet somehow from your brother hacking my phone.”

You can just picture his nod. “A wise decision.”

You scowl at him through the phone screen. There’s a pause. He seems to sense something amiss. “Were you about to take part in something?”

“ _Goodbye_!” You end the call swiftly, tossing your phone to the side.

When he calls again, you’ve only managed a few strokes to your clit, just barely on the edge of starting to feel something. You know it’s him; you don’t bother responding. However, when the phone starts ringing again, you snatch the phone, putting it to your ear.

“What?”

He’s silent for a beat. “Are you pleasuring yourself?”

Your mouth goes dry. For some reason, his usual flat tone combined with the question has shame creeping up your spine. “I—“ Your silence is the answer.

What sounds like cloth shifting—was he getting comfortable? Lounging in a bed as well? “I… would not be averse to you sending me more images like that last one.”

Your mind stutters to a halt, gears locking. “Provided you still have them,” he continues. “I assumed… well, you always find ways around my orders, anyways. “

And then the gears are starting up again. “Didn’t you _just_ say—”

“I—know what I said.” Illumi’s usual flat tone has a slight inflection to it. He sounds just as out of his element as you feel. “Given the circumstances, I don’t think it’s wise. However….”

At this point you can hear the slightest rustle of clothing, the _hint_ of illumi’s measured breathing not being quite so. He’s an assassin, he knows how to control his body as well as others, yet still—

“Are you—are you also…”

“It has been awhile since we last saw each other,” he answers, sounding somewhat distracted.

It’s quiet, awkwardly so. Clearly Illumi has no idea how to proceed, so you caution. “What are you thinking of?”

“I am waiting for you to provide me with stimuli,” he says bluntly.

You try not to falter in your approach, opting for a different route. “I didn’t know you masturbated.”

“I…. I never made a habit of it, but lately…” He quiets as he becomes aware of the slight squelching sounds of your finger stroking along the walls of your entrance. You can’t help it; just the thought of your taciturn, sexually repressed lover jerking himself off to the thought of you…

“What are you inserting? Inside of you.”

“My fingers,” you say, your voice growing more breathy.

“I—”

“ _Someone_ threw me away my toys.” You send him a withering look through the phone.

“You don’t need those things.”

“If only my fiance wasn’t gone so often I wouldn’t.”

His next words are inflected with a curious kind of pensivity. “You would like me to be home more often.” It’s not a question but it does sound like one.

“Yes, I would. I miss you, Ilu. These nights gets so lonely without you. And your—” Your breath catches as you stroke a spot inside you that has your toes curling. “Your touch.”

“I am an assassin. It’s my job to be away.” He hesitates. “However… you are my fiancée. You are also, in a sense, my responsibility.”

The admission is as earnest as a confession you’ll ever get out of him.

“T-tell me, Ilu,” you gasp. “What do you want to be responsible for?”

“Your… sexual gratification.”

Illumi’s flat, bland tone doesn’t naturally invoke sexiness, but you’re so starved for responsiveness that it sounds like it to you.

You’re louder now, moaning softly into the receiver, and Illumi doesn’t say anything, but you do hear more of fabric rustling. You can just picture him uncovering his length, stroking it slightly, unsurely, as if he’s not sure himself if he should be doing this.

It’s a risky attack, but you know this isn’t his area of expertise, so you ask.

“Illu… are you touching yourself?”

“I am,” he states, matter-of-factly.

“What are you thinking of?”

“I…” He pauses. “…You.” Youto let him press on, but when he doesn’t, you continue.

“What… _about_ me, Illu?”

He sighs, as if it’s a chore to state the obvious. “Your snugness. When I enter you. It’s…” you can just picture his owlish blinking. “Pleasant.”

“Oh?”

“Yes.” This time, he sounds impatient. You bite back a laugh.

Curious about how Illumi will respond to a more vulgar kind of dirty talk, you say, “You know… you’re so _big_ , Ilu. You always hit all the nice spots. My fingers could never replace you. I’m almost jealous I don’t get to see you right now.”

“Ah… is that so.” He coughs slightly, and you’d like to think he’s affected.

You continue stroking, voicing soft moans into the receiver, and Illumi makes a frustrated sound. “What is it?”

“I…” You can picture his tensed brow. He sounds unusually annoyed. “This is… unsatisfactory.”

You choke on your next words, and he continues. “I would prefer to be able to see you. This way, I can’t finish.”

Just as your heart plummets as you consider he doesn’t want to continue, he’s going to hang up, the door slams open. You scramble to cover yourself with the sheets, then you’re staring up at a familiar pair of large, black eyes. “Illu?!?”

He tosses his phone to the side, before surging forwards to press his mouth to yours firmly. It’s a little awkward, like all forms of affection with him are, his lips pressing against you but not moving at all. What’s not awkward, to you at least, is the way his tented groin nudges against you. When you break the kiss, he’s frowning. 

“This is better,” he says, not a trace of emotion on his face.

“How did you—”

“I certainly need to ensure your windows are reinforced,” he says offhandedly. “But also… what did I say about making sure no one else is in your apartment?” His frown deepens at the corners.

“Wait, where you— _here_ , this whole time?”

He stares at you as if the answer is obvious. “Of course. I was just about to inform you over the phone, when I heard you were… preoccupied.”

Heat creeps up your face. “I was going to let you finish, however…”

He grabs your phone from your hand, tossing it aside as well. He’s deftly removing his pants with one hand, while yanking your fingers out from inside of you, but not before scrutinizing your drenched fingers with his blank stare. Then his hand is entwining with yours, and he’s surging into you. You choke back a moan. 

“Ah… yes.” Illumi makes a sound in his throat that sounds close to a purr. For him at least. “This is _much_ better.” His hips begin pistoning into you.

You arch your back, releasing a staggered cry of his name. Illumi is spurred to pound into you, his thin hips slapping into your ass with every thrust. His eyes are wide-open, betraying little as usual, but you can spot a sheen of sweat forming on his forehead, a frantic intensity about him. His long hair falls like a curtain over you two and you push some behind his ear, the brush of your palm lingering near his cheek.

He tilts his head to the side, slamming into you with a force that has your body tensing up. When his long, dexterous fingers dip between your bodies to rub against your throbbing nub, you’re hurtling towards a quick end, your orgasm bursting inside of you as you cry out his name once more.

Your free hand comes to grasp his wrist. A warning to stop. His fingers twitch, as if wanting to defy it, but with your spasms drawing him in closer, he concedes to wrapping his hand around your shoulder as his hips thrust into you for a final time, his hot spend shooting out in spurts inside of you.

Your hand slacks in his hold, and he relaxes his form against you, his eyes slipping shut. Your labored breathing is a contrast to his silent cooldown, but when he finally glances up, you’re grinning at him.

He feels the bite of irritation before he even knows what you’re up to. “What?”

“The sexting totally worked,” you say smugly.

“The… you mean those awful messages you sent me?” If he could, Illumi would be rolling his eyes. As it is, his tone conveys that well enough. “Those were hardly comparable to the real thing.”

“Admit it, though. It kind of worked.”

Illumi, in fact, will not admit it. He will also not admit that he saved that picture of you in his shirt in an extremely private, password-protected, Milluki’s-computer-will-automatically-catch-on-fire-if-he-attempts-to-breach-it folder.

Instead, he shows you how technology pales to his skills over and over that night.


End file.
